Sandcastles
by ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: While vacationing at his parents' summer house in Rhode Island, Mulder makes a discovery that might change his and Scully's life forever.
1. Part One

**A/N – I haven't posted anything on here for a really long time, so I apologize if my writing seems a bit rusty. This is something I've had in my Fanfiction folder for years and had every intention to finish after the release of the second film five years ago, but I never got around to it. Now, from some reason, it sort of wrote itself, so I thought I'd share. Any feedback is welcome – I might have disappeared from this website for a while, but my love for review hasn't faded. Happy reading!**

**Disclaimer – the characters and any reference you might recognize from the series are the eternal property of Chris Carter and the rest of the X Files team, I'm just playing.**

**Sandcastles**

**Part One**

He wakes up with a start. Darkness is complete, but not as complete as in the place he has just left. Dawn must still be a few hours away, he figures. And it isn't really as dark, he tells himself, shuddering as he thinks of the place that is gradually vanishing from his mind. Until next time. He tries to comfort himself, reminding himself it was nothing but another bad dream. Lord knows, in another time, another life, he has accumulated monsters to last him a lifetime. They come to haunt him now, with as much persistence as he has demonstrated while chasing them in the past. Usually he cannot tell one from the other by the time he wakes up. He can't remember if it was Eugene Tooms dominating his nightmare tonight, Donnie Pfaster, Duane Barry. The list is endless. And yet this is all it has been; nothing but a dream.

He sits up as his eyes quickly adjust to the shadows that envelope the room. His mind clears considerably. It becomes easier to make out his surroundings, and it comforts him further. The loud voices in his head quickly make way to the real sounds around him, and the one that matters most of all, the sound of soft, steady breathing. He looks down at the woman who is sleeping peacefully, obliviously, next to him. Her mass of red, tangled hair is a sharp contrast to the cream-colored beddings. She lies there with her back to him, snuggling into the covers. Her being next to him is the only reassurance he needs. He once told her she was his touchstone, and there is really no better way to put it. One look at her, and he knows there is nothing to be afraid of.

He waits a moment longer for his breathing to steady. He closes his eyes, trying to match its rhythm to hers. It helps; he is feeling calmer already. Only when he is sure his heartbeat won't startle her into wakefulness, he eases himself back onto bed and curls around her small form. She doesn't wake. In her sleep, she presses her back against his chest and he adjusts the covers so they would drape around both of them. He lays his head against her shoulder and wraps his arm around her waist to pull her closer. He lets her essence surround him. Its familiarity is his greatest comfort. Only then he is ready to give in to slumber once more.

The brightness that overtakes him almost instantly is startling, but only because it is so different to the darkness he remembers from his previous dream. He knows exactly where he is, and he blinks several times until the familiar image is coming into focus. He does not recoil from the vision as it wraps itself around him. He simply sits aside and lets it unfold as he watches himself and the young boy play in the sand. The vision has changed quite a bit over the years, especially during the time he was forced to flee and live underground. They no longer build an enormous space craft, but a sandcastle. The boy is no longer a young version of himself, but his own son.

In his sleep, he sighs deeply. He has not seen this vision in years, but it has come back to haunt him shortly after their ordeal with Father Joe, nearly two years ago. It induces different emotions within him at different times of his life. At first it was confusion and endless pondering as for who this boy was and what was it about him that made him appear over and over again. When the boy's image began to alter, puzzlement shifted into awe. The vision was his way of holding on to the memory of his own son while on the run. Recently, the vision triggers deep sadness. Sadness and longing for a boy he is unlikely to ever meet again, but who has changed his life profoundly in every possible way.

No words pass between him and the boy as they build the enormous sandcastle on the beach. The only sound is that of the ocean, an occasional laughter or a squeal of delight. There's a certain bond forming between them, building up as they work side by side. It is just the two of them out there, always the two of them, as though it is the way of his subconscious to make up for the time they have lost. He mourns this relationship they could have had, the one he gets to experience only through this dream, this vision. He mourns the son he didn't know he had wanted, the one he lost before he realized that he had.

It feels unfair to even refer to him his son. He has failed William, deserting him so soon after he was born. He has not seen him since he was three days old. He exists now only in his memory, in photos, in stories, but time is cruel and unjust, and reminisces fade faster than one wishes them to. He can only imagine what the boy might look like now, for he is constantly changing in the vision, growing older as the years go by. In his mind's eye, William looks exactly like his mother, all auburn hair and blue eyes. If he is lucky, he will inherit none of his father's features.

William will be eight soon, and his yearning to see him again is as strong as in the day he has learnt of his loss. There was no time to mourn for him until much later, only when they were away and safe, but recently he feels as though he is drowning in it, unable to set himself free. He misses his son, the only son he has had, the only son he will ever have. Knowing that they will never have more children, that this was their one missed opportunity, only intensifies the pain. And even if they have other children, their existence will never diminish the loss of him, their miracle child.

xxxxx

He finds himself alone in bed when he wakes up the following morning. He sits up, disoriented, and looks around him. It is a moment before he remembers where he is, but then it comes to him; his parents' summer house in Quonochontaug, Rhode Island, where they have spent the last five days. Once he is placing himself, memories of his dreams from the previous night also rush in. He sighs and gets out of bed.

He is still feeling drowsy, so he takes a shower before he gets dressed. The scent of frying eggs is all over the small house, and so he knows he will find her in the kitchen, and he is heading there. He's surprised to discover he is hungry; he's amazed at how after the turmoil of last night his body still manages to maintain such mundane needs such as hunger.

She is having coffee at the table, reading from a paperback, but she looks up as soon as he walks in and smiles at him. His heart is still missing a beat whenever she does so. He should be used to seeing her smile by now, but it still takes him off guard whenever she does.

"Hey," she says as he sits across from her. "I thought I would have to wake you up."

"What time is it?" He asks, his voice still raspy with the hints of sleep in it.

"It's almost ten," she says with the slightest note of reproach.

He lets out a long whistle. "I haven't slept in this much since..." He falls silent, realizing he cannot even recall the last time he has. He looks up at her with feigned terror. "Geez, Scully, when have I become so old?"

Her smile widens an inch as she stands up. She crosses the small room towards the counter, where she is heaping some food onto a plate and setting it in front of him. He mumbles a quick "thank you" before tackling it. He thinks he hears her chuckle, but he doesn't stop to question it. He's too busy wondering where she's become such a fine cook. He thinks of himself as a pretty good cook now as well, to be honest, but he knows all credit goes to her. He loves helping her around the kitchen.

"So, umm," she begins, with clear hesitation in her voice. He looks up and sees it reflected in her eyes. Her forehead creases ever so slightly. "You had another nightmare last night."

It isn't a question. He is speechless against her resolute tone, against her piercing gaze. When she is looking at him like this, it's like she knows every last detail about his dream.

"Not a nightmare, I think," he says, because he barely remembers the darkness. He has become good in burying it deep inside him. "This was a good dream."

"It didn't feel like a good dream to me," she says, and he can sense she is almost scared to contradict him. "You were tossing and turning half the night, Mulder."

"I... don't remember that part." And it is true; he doesn't. But now sudden helplessness threatens to overcome him. Has it really been worse than he remembers?

She shakes her head somewhat sorrowfully, but doesn't question the nature of his dream. He guesses it's pretty obvious. The absence of their son haunts her as well. He can't even imagine what it feels for her; she's known their son for several months before being forced to give him up. For years he has stopped himself from picturing this dark time in their lives, when she was hurting and he could not be around to comfort her. When they reunited all these years ago, in that motel in Roswell the night they fled, he made a silent vow as he watched her sleep. No matter how desperate the circumstances, he would never leave her again.

"So what do you want to do today?" he asks her, mostly to clear the air. He's still feeling somewhat drowsy, but he knows he will have to do something if he wants the shadows to be gone.

She cocks an eyebrow and he knows it means she has guessed his motives. But she makes no comment about it. They are here to escape the darkness, not delve further into it. "Hanging around the lake sounds just fine," she replies, smiling. "And then… maybe hotdogs for dinner? I'll let you pick the movie."

"Five days out here and already you're starting to trust me? Are you really that desperate, Scully?" he asks, barely able to dodge as she hits his head with a rolled newspaper.

"Shut it before I change my mind," she retorts, mock sulking. "Now hurry up and finish your breakfast. I'd like to get to the lake before we run out of sun."

"Oooh, bossy," he says, rising his eyebrow suggestively as he pulls her closer.

Yelping in surprise, she topples forward, ending up on his lap. It is a moment before her giggles fade, but then their gazes lock and she reaches out to brush his hair away from his face. "Are you sure you're okay, Mulder?"

Keeping his eyes on hers is a struggle. He hates lying to her. "I'm fine."

Only when she leaves the kitchen it hits him. All these years this has been her line. He can't help but wonder when the tables have turned.

xxxxx

He wakes up the next morning buzzing with new energy. It's surging through him like wildfire. He doesn't remember the last time he has felt livelier. It's still extremely early, barely even dawn. Scully is still deeply asleep by his side. He decides to do something he hasn't done in a while. He slips out of bed and blindly searches for some clothes. Then he heads towards the lake for a run.

He's always enjoyed running. In a different lifetime he might have taken it up professionally, having won various competitions in his teens. There's something exhilarating about it, the wind wiping against his face, the need to keep a clear head, to stay in sync with one's breathing. It works better than meditation on him.

He loves running here. The air is so crisp, so clear; he makes sure to take in as much of it as possible. He runs the long way to the lake. The back of the house has access to a private beach, but they mostly prefer lounging on the main beach some distance away. He runs all the way there and back.

When he returns a couple of hours later, his tee shirt is soaked back and front, he's feeling like a new person. He takes a quick shower and then goes up to the attic. He meant to sort through the crates and boxes he found there upon their arrival, but he feared the memories would overwhelm him. He's working as quietly as he can, but soon he hears steps echoing up the stairs. The door creaks as Scully walks in, using her foot since she holds two mugs of steaming coffee. The scent is intoxicating.

"Thanks," he says as she hands him one of the mugs. She smiles still somewhat sleepily and sits cross legged on the wooden floor next to him.

"I thought you cleared all these years ago," she says.

"Nope, not everything." He reaches for another box and empties it. It contains large, old fashioned albums with dark leather covers. "I didn't even know those were up here. I thought my mom kept all the family albums at her place." He runs his fingers over the smooth cover of one of them, hesitant to open it. "These have been here for ages. They definitely need sorting."

"Well, do you want some help? I come from a long line of photo album experts."

He laughs softly. It sounds just about right. He can imagine the shelves upon shelves of photo albums at Margaret Scully's house, neatly organized by dates. Then he thinks of a particular album, a smaller one than the others. One that he knows she has because her daughter gave it to her for safekeeping right before they fled. One that is only half filled with photos of a baby he's never fully known.

She notices the change in his expression and her eyes are filled with questions. He dismisses her concern with a shake of his head. "Sure, I'd love some help. Maybe we can take some of these back with us."

Immersing himself in the past, in his youth, actually helps. They stop every now and then as he recounts another anecdote, another incident, that is related to a certain photograph. She's listening intently, and he thinks it's kind of funny. She knows so much about him already, but there's so much left unknown, even after all these years. It only makes him wonder how much he doesn't yet know about her.

xxxxx

He wakes up late the next morning, and the house is quiet. She's nowhere to be found, but a note in her handwriting on the kitchen table tells him she's gone to town to get some groceries. He runs his fingers through his hair, feeling dismayed. He feels bad for oversleeping, for not being up on time to go with her and help her. He knows she's perfectly capable of handling grocery shopping by herself, but he's feeling kind of useless.

He finds a pen and scribbles a few lines at the bottom of her note, telling her to find him on the beach when she's back. He's feeling a bit drowsy, having had another nightmare the night before, and he hopes the fresh air will do him good.

It is a gorgeous day by the lake. The stuffiness that's so apparent in the house, even with the newly installed air conditioner on, is hardly felt out here. There's even the slightest breeze, ruffling his hair as he makes his way to the water's edge before plunging in. He floats idly for a while, just letting the water carry him away. He doesn't feel like swimming. He just wants to clear his mind. There are children yelling in the background, disrupting the otherwise calm surroundings. He doesn't really care. With his ears bellow the water's surface, their voices are nothing but a mild echo.

Soon he gets tired of doing nothing, though. He's never been the type. He rolls over and regains his balance. He can barely feel the ground underneath his feet. He hasn't realized he's drifted so far. He swims a little closer to shore and looks over. He can now see the kids he's heard yelling earlier. They're sitting by the water's edge in small groups, building sandcastles. He spots his small pile of clothing, water and book, a safe distance behind them. He looks further away, but can't yet make out the approaching figure he hopes to see, that of a petite woman with auburn hair, safely hidden underneath a large straw hat.

He swims closer and brings his attention back to the kids on the beach. They don't seem to belong to the same age group. There are two women sitting a small distance from them, clearly watching over them. The kids don't seem to mind the fact they shouldn't have anything in common, being in different ages. They yell and squeal to one another as if their sandcastles are the most important thing in the world. And why would they act differently? It should be the most important thing in the world at their age. Why should they be bothered by anything else like conspiracies or alien invasions, by the darkness?

Their images are becoming clearer the closer he swims towards the shore. A boy of about twelve is chasing two squealing girls with a piece of dripping seaweed. He smiles, thinking of himself and his sister Samantha fooling around on this very same beach. One of the girls even looks a bit like Samantha, her wet hair streaming down her shoulders in tangles. Certain melancholy washes over him as her absence hits him once more. He's known the truth for years now; he knows she's dead, that she isn't coming back. It doesn't make her loss less painful or overwhelming.

He walks passed the children on his way to his spot, now smiling sadly to himself. What wouldn't he give for another year on this beach with her, just one more summer, before he was forced to grow up so abruptly. What wouldn't he give for this girl to really be his little sister.

And then he notices something and stops short.

One of the kids, who sits in close proximity to the two women, now catches his attention. In fact, this little boy is all he sees. His smile quickly fades. He feels the blood drain from his face, his heart beating faster and faster. He seems one of the youngest, no older than seven or eight. It isn't the boy's striking red hair which catches him off guard, although a hidden voice within him tells him that it should. As he sits there alone, building his sandcastle, it is almost as if the boy has stepped out of his dream.

As if he senses he is being watched, the child suddenly turns and their gazes lock. His gaze is intense, almost too intense for his relatively tender age, but he can't bring himself to look away. He fears that if he does, the boy will suddenly disappear, fade into thin air. He barely dares to blink. The boy's eyes are glimmering. Although he can't see their color from such distance, somehow he is certain they're ocean blue. There's only one other person he knows whose eyes are the exact same color.

At first he tells himself that it's impossible, that the sun is playing tricks on him. Didn't he think a moment ago that one of the girls was his sister? It is a hot day and he's barely drunk anything all morning. Only he doesn't feel dehydrated. On the contrary; his mind is painfully alert.

His first impulse is to rush towards the women and ask them at once who this boy is. This is how he's always worked, based on hunches and intuition. But this isn't a case he is working on. This is more personal than any case he has ever investigated. If he is going to act, he will have to do so carefully.

The boy is still eyeing him curiously. There's strange recognition in his gaze, and this fact startles him. If anything, it makes him suspect he is right. And if this is the case… there's only one way to confirm his suspicion.

Somehow, he manages to look away, turn his back on the children. He towels off and gets dressed in a haste, then dashes home.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

Scully is just pulling into the driveway when he arrives, breathless. He bends forward and puts his hands against his knees, heaving. The heat isn't helping either; he thinks he might faint. Maybe he's not such a good runner as he has believed.

She catches sight of him through the windshield. Her forehead creases in what seems like confusion before she slowly gets out of the car. "Mulder?" she calls in his direction. He straightens up slowly, feeling every sore muscle in the process. Yeah, he's definitely too old for this. "What's wrong?"

She's about to come towards him, but he raises a hand to stop her. "No. Get back in the car."

"What? What are you talking about?"

He's catching up with her by then, and touches the small of her back, guiding her forward. This small gesture brings back memories, but he refuses to let nostalgia sidetrack him now. "I'll explain on the way, just come on."

"O… kay," she says slowly, giving him another curious look, but does as he asks.

It's still cooler inside the car, as the affect of the air conditioning hasn't completely worn off yet. He leans back in the passenger seat as she's putting the keys back in the ignition and pulls out of the driveway. His heart is still beating like crazy.

"So where am I going?" she asks, peeking sideways at him as they hit the main road.

"The main beach, as fast as you can."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"When we get there."

She laughs softly to herself, but doesn't face him. Nonetheless, the sound intrigues him.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just… You're acting all weird and cryptic again. Like old times. I think I just didn't realize how much I missed it."

"Going into the darkness with me?"

"Is that what I'm unknowingly doing right now?"

"Just the opposite, if I'm right."

He knows that she would have preferred a reply which is less vague than the one he's given her, just as well as he knows he should just tell her of his suspicions, but he can't find the words. He doesn't even know where to start. Even he, who will believe practically anything, can barely believe this. And besides, he knows her too well. She will never believe him without seeing it with her own eyes.

The road is incredibly shorter while driving. He springs out of the car as soon as she kills the engine, and hurries to help her out.

"Seriously, Mulder, what is going on?" she asks, having spent the entire drive in silence. There's a hint of impatience in her tone.

He puts his hands against her shoulders, locking his gaze with hers, but words still fail him. He struggles to speak. "When I was here earlier, I thought I saw…"

"What? You thought you saw what?"

"There was a bunch of kids playing on the beach. I thought one of them was…"

There's a faint glimmer in her eyes, as though she understands what he's desperately trying to tell her. She doesn't gasp or try to convince him it was all in his head. She says nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"I needed you to come and see for yourself."

She doesn't say anything for a long, excruciating moment. When she finally speaks, her voice is calm, but she is obviously shaken. "Where… where are they?"

"Just over there," he replies, gently taking her hand. "Come on."

xxxxx

She doesn't protest as he leads her forward. He doesn't need his photographic memory to know exactly where he's going. It is a small beach and he remembers exactly where the children were when he had first spotted them, less than an hour ago.

But when they finally get there, aside for three old ladies sunbathing in the distance, the beach is completely deserted. The silence is piercing; the sound of small waves crushing against the shore is mocking. He feels deflated, and even more defeated as he feels her eyes on him. He doesn't turn to face her, knowing that if he does, they will be filled with unuttered questions, or worse, tears.

"They were right here," he says, pointing at the place where he has seen the children play not too long ago. Then something in that spot catches his eye and he bolts forward. There's a castle, as well as other structures which are less definitive, in the sand.

He kneels next to the castle and traces his finger along its contours, feeling at loss. Her hand covers his, and he turns slowly to face her. Her eyes burn with emotion. Mostly it seems she feels sorry for him. He can only imagine what she must be thinking. Probably about how deluded he is, first chasing the phantom of his sister, then that of his long gone son.

"I'm not making this up," he says stubbornly as he rises to his feet.

"I didn't say that you were," she protests, hurrying after him. Storming away in the sand is difficult; she catches up with him in no time. "What makes you think it _was_ him?"

"I saw him before." The words startle her. He can tell as much. "In my dreams. I see him often. He… looks exactly like you."

Her expression softens. She looks as if she's making enormous efforts not to cry. "Funny," she says eventually, and her voice is on the verge of breaking. "I always thought he would look exactly like you."

There's nothing he can say to comfort her. Already he feels as though he's breaking his vow to never cause her pain again. He wraps his arms around her and feels her ease into his embrace. He doesn't care how hot it is on the beach. He lays his chin against the top of her head and holds her closer. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and feels her shake her head in wordless reply. He holds her another moment before slowly pulling away. He takes her hand in his again and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Come on. Let's just go home."

xxxxx

His insomnia hits him full force that night, and he spends a while just laying on his back and staring at the ceiling, at the shadows that the blinds and curtain make against the fall when the soft light from the street hits them in just the right angle. He knows there's no point fighting it, so he goes downstairs and watches some old horror film on mute. The black and white of the film slowly lull him to sleep. As his eyelids become heavier and heavier, he gets up and makes his way to the bedroom.

She's tossing and turning in bed, trapped in some sort of a dream. She looks anything but peaceful; her face is contorted as if she's in pain. As he slowly lowers himself into bed beside her, her unintelligible murmur becomes a name.

"No… William…"

He touches her shoulder as gently as he can. "Dana," he whispers, but wherever her mind is, she's too far gone to hear him. He shakes her ever so slightly. "Dana, it's okay. Wake up."

This time she starts, and her eyes snap open. They look remarkably blue when they meet his in the darkness. "Oh," she breathes, and for a moment he isn't sure if she's fully awake yet.

"It's okay," he murmurs. She scoots closer and he wraps his arms around her. She lays her head against his chest; he's horrified when he realizes she's trembling. "It was just a dream," he says, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "It's okay."

But it isn't okay. Neither of them is. Over the years, they have come to repress the loss of their son, find comfort in one another and in the fact that they have had each other, at least. They've made repressing their emotions into art. But now it's all coming back, and whether they will see those children again on the beach or not, he wonders if they will ever be able to recover at all.

Soon she's fast asleep, and he feels himself drifting as well. He feels her fingers grip his shirt, clinging to him with dependency he's never associated with her. His arms are still tight around her. He feels particularly vulnerable, but she is his touchstone. He knows he will be able to overcome anything as long as she's by his side.

xxxxx

A few days pass, and they're both relatively better. They don't speak of that day by the lake, but the words are there, hovering over them. The nights are surprisingly peaceful as well. He's grateful each morning he wakes up and realizes he has slept the night through. They've been to the beach several times since then, but the children, the redheaded little boy in particular, have never reappeared.

He begins to think that it has never happened. It really was hot that day. He chuckles when he realizes his attempt to rationalize things; like she would have done all these years ago.

"What's funny?"

He looks down at the sound of her voice. She's laying on her stomach on a purple towel, peeking at him through her sunglasses. Up until a moment ago, he thought she was asleep. "Oh, I just realized I was beginning to resemble you."

Her nose wrinkles almost on its own accord. "And that's a bad thing?"

"I guess I'm just not used to it, that's all," he replies, laughing at the disapproval he sees reflected in her eyes. "To question my every move, I mean."

"What were you questioning?"

"Nothing important," he shakes his head, desperate for a change of subject. He reaches for her beach bag and takes out a tube of sunscreen. "How about some more sunscreen?"

She eyes him somewhat wearily, but sits up anyway. She looks over her shoulder as he squeezes some lotion into his hands. "I know what this is about, you know."

"You'll thank me later."

"You know what I was talking about."

"I'm just looking after you."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

He stops himself from smiling, mostly because he's grateful for the distraction. "Are you underestimating my ability to look after you?"

"Of course not, I was just saying that under the circumstances you can't expect me to believe you were simply…"

But he barely hears her now. A noise at the farthest end of the beach makes him look up. And there they are, as noisy as he remembers, as they settle on the golden sand.

"Mulder, are you listening to me?"

He blinks and looks at her. Her sunglasses are now on top of her head and she eyes him with concern. "Scully," he says slowly, hesitantly. "They're here."

"Who's here?"

Her eyes follow his as he looks over his shoulder. She gasps, but he doesn't look at her to acknowledge the sound. His eyes are already searching for the little boy. "I don't see him," he says, aware of the hint of panic in his voice. He grabs a second towel from the bag and wipes his hands on it before getting up.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" she calls after him, but he's already halfway there. This time, he'll follow his instincts.


	3. Part Three

**A/N: Hello followers and reviewers, this is the final part of this story. I hope the conclusion doesn't seem rushed, but I never intended to make a multiple-chapters story out of this and I think the pace in general kind of works. There's an epilogue coming up on which I'm still working, so stay tuned to that too. In the meantime, enjoy this final part!**

* * *

**Part Three**

He hurries forward the best he can. He's only half aware of the way the sand is burning his bare feet. He hears Scully behind him, calling after him, trying to keep up, but he doesn't stop to let her catch up with him. He's scared that if he doesn't reach there on time, the children will be gone once more. He refuses to let this happen.

There are no more than a dozen kids there, but it feels like there's so much more of them as they're blocking his way. Their voices, a constant drone, are making him dizzy the closer he gets to them. His eyes fly over them as he hurries through them, but he still doesn't see him. With each step forward he becomes convinced of what he has already suspected; that the boy has been nothing but a figment of his imagination. But he doesn't really believe that; at least he doesn't want to. There's one person he knows might be able to explain everything to him, and he lets out a sigh of relief when he finally notices her, underneath a large parasol, helping a little girl to get her shoes untied.

"Excuse me!" he calls in her direction. The woman looks up in surprise. "My name is Fox Mulder and this is Dana Scully," he says as Scully catches up with him. He tenses as he notices the woman's reaction to Scully, who is now standing beside him. She obviously notices her red hair, her eyes. He can sense her wondering.

"Leslie, run along now, dear," she says distractedly, waving off the little girl. Then she meets his eyes and nods ever so slightly. "I'm Laurie Miller."

"Miss Miller, you were here a few days ago," he's half saying, half asking.

"Yes, that's right."

There's so much he wants to ask, but he's numb, unsure how to continue. Luckily, Scully interferes, her investigator instinct kicking in. "Who are these kids?"

"Oh, they're all under my care. I'm the manager of the Shooting Star orphanage. We brought the kids down here for a few days from Maine."

"An orphanage," Scully murmurs and her eyes fly up to meet his. He feels as thunderstruck as she looks.

"There was a boy here the other day," he says before the implication of Laurie's statement fully dawns on him. "He looked younger than the rest, a redhead."

"Oh yes, Billy," Laurie replies, glancing suspiciously at Scully, who doesn't flinch beneath her inquiring gaze.

_Billy_. He tries to contain his impatience. It all fits in a strange, incredible way, but he mustn't rush into this. He keeps reminding himself to tread slowly, carefully. "Has he been with you for long?"

"A little over two years. Billy has quite a story for one so young."

"How… How do you mean?"

"Well, Billy was given for adoption when he was only a few months old. His foster parents have never had another child, but it's all for the better, for they were both killed in a car accident nearly three years ago. That's how we got him."

More details fall into place. He can feel Scully shiver by his side. He wraps his arm tighter around her waist; he suspects it's the only thing that prevents her from dropping to the ground. As he processes Laurie's story, another thing occurs to him. Could that be the true meaning of Father Joe's words – _don't give up_ – all these years ago? Did they carry more meaning than a simple encouragement to never lose hope?

"How old is Billy?"

"About seven, I would think. He hardly ever speaks, poor soul. We know very little about his past."

"Have you got any records of his birth mother or his foster parents?"

Laurie shakes her head sorrowfully. "The social worker who has placed him under our care explained that all records have been destroyed in an office fire several years ago, so most of the information has been lost. It seemed strange, but unimportant at the time. We just wanted to ease his suffering the best we could, under the circumstances." She stops herself, eyeing them suspiciously again. "Why do you want to know about Billy?"

"I want to see him," Scully says, ignoring the inquiry altogether. She looks frantically around her, and he recognizes the fire in her eyes. She's heard the facts; now she is determined to see some proof. "Where is he? I want to see him."

Laurie seems reluctant to go along with this, but she replies anyway. "He's not here."

"Where is he?"

"Are you going to tell me what is it you want with him?"

"This is going to sound crazy," he starts, but thinks they must seem crazy to her already. "We think… he might be our son."

This statement seems to take Laurie off guard. She considers it, then shakes her head somewhat in dismay. "I can't deny there's an uncanny resemblance, but Mr. Mulder, from here to claiming to be the parents of – "

"Everything you said so far fits."

"Even if it were true, why would I want to go along with this? Hasn't the poor boy suffered enough? Why would I tell you where he is? If you've given him up in the first place – "

"We did it in order to protect him," Scully seems to have found her voice. "Our jobs at the time were highly dangerous and there was true risk to his life. Giving him up was the hardest thing I've ever done," her voice breaks; he squeezes her hand. "But I was willing to do anything to ensure his safety."

Laurie still seems uncertain, and he can't blame her. This kind of stuff only happens in movies. She lets out a sound which is half a moan, half a chuckle, and shakes her head. "I'm not sure what to say," she says eventually, looking truly perplexed. "I mean, have you even got a good enough look at him the last time you saw us all here on the beach?"

"No," he admits, "but sometimes you can just tell, can't you?"

She's silent for a long moment before she nods, smiling sadly. "Yes, I suppose that you can." She looks at Scully, who looks almost desperate now. Her eyes look wild, glimmering with tears. "Billy was feeling a little unwell this morning. I left him behind at the cabin with my assistant. I wanted him to get some rest."

"How far is it from here?"

"Fifteen minutes drive on the main road."

She's already moving away from them, throwing her sundress back on and stuffing their things back into the beach bag.

"Wait!" Laurie calls after her. Scully pauses and turns. He holds his breath; he hopes Laurie hasn't changed her mind. "I'll call my assistant and tell her you're coming," she says, offering the two of them a weak smile.

He thanks her in a haste and hurries on to help Scully with their things. By the time he catches up with her by the car, the engine is already running. The tires squeal as she speeds away up the main road, on their way to the unknown.

xxxxx

They arrive at the cabin in no time. A woman is standing on the doorway, watching them. It must be Laurie's assistant. She still holds her cell phone as she's standing there and eyeing them with trepidation.

Scully doesn't hurry out of the car as he has expected her to do, given her reaction earlier. She just sits there, staring straight ahead, her hands gripping the steering wheel. He reaches for her hand and laces their fingers together. It breaks her focus; she looks up at him.

"Dana – "

"I'm fine, Mulder," she cuts him off almost automatically. Then she shakes her head, laughing softly. "I guess I'm just trying to prepare myself."

"In case it isn't him?"

Her gaze meets his. "In case that it is."

"Well," he says, slowly letting go of her hand. He lays his palm against her cheek. "There's only one way to find out."

She presses her cheek against his hand and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, they glimmer with new determination. Wordlessly, she's getting out of the car, and he's following suit.

Laurie's assistant is younger than her, in her mid-twenties. She looks every inch the summer camp guide in her khaki shorts and polo shirt, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Her reaction to Scully is similar to Laurie's. It gives him hope.

"Are you the people Laurie just told me about?"

"Fox Mulder, Dana Scully."

"I'm Anna Anders," she says as they hastily shake hands. She hesitates, then asks, "Is it true? Are you really Billy's parents?"

"That's what we've come here to find out," he replies.

"How is he?" Scully asks, ever the medical doctor. "Miss Miller said he was unwell."

"He's running a bit of a fever, but it doesn't seem serious. We thought it best if he slept it off."

"Does it happen often?"

"Not at all. In fact, in all the time he's been with us, I don't think he's ever been sick."

"Can I see him?"

"I just went in to see him. He's still sleeping."

"Please. I just want to look at him. I need to know."

Anna hesitates, but eventually relents. "Of course. At the end of the hallway. Third door to your left."

Scully rushes down the hall and he follows. He can't really describe the way he's feeling. It's a mix of dread and anticipation. He can't decide which is worse at this point – if the boy in that room turns out to be William, or if he doesn't.

The door creaks ever so slightly as Scully opens it. She freezes on the threshold for a moment, as though worried the sound will disrupt his slumber. Soon she regains her composure and walks into the room. Following after her, he can now see the small figure in the bed. The little boy he saw on the beach. His eyes are closed, but he's not sleeping soundly. His hair is damp against his forehead.

"Oh my God," Scully murmurs. She's by the bedside in half a second, dipping a cloth in a basin of water that it on the nightstand. He watches her as she places it on the boy's forehead. Her motion is so tender, so… maternal. She's so good at this, as if it has always been her calling. It reminds him of a case they had years ago, with the Peacock brothers at Home. Up until that case, he's never thought of her as a mother. It now dawns on him that he's never thought of himself as a father. Now he can't help but wonder if he will ever be as natural in this as she seems to be already.

And then the boy stirs in his bed, and everything else fades into nothingness.

"William?"

Even in a whisper, her voice is nearly breaking. He steps further into the room and lays a hand against her shoulder. She turns to look at him, but only briefly, before she focuses her attention on the bed again.

The boy opens his eyes and blinks. He doesn't even seem scared at the sight of the two strangers in his room, hovering over his bed. On the contrary, he almost looks as though he has expected them. He looks straight at Scully and tells her, "I knew you would come."

To his complete astonishment, this is all it takes for the woman who has doubted everything that came her way from the moment he met her. Their son's name escapes her lips as she scoops the little boy in her arms and holds him to her chest.

Up until that moment, he was certain he has seen absolutely everything. He barely dares to breathe as he watches them in one another's arms. He doesn't even know how to begin to explain what he's witnessing. William was barely one year old when he was given away for adoption; he shouldn't remember his birth mother, at least not as well as he seems to remember her. He shouldn't know who she is by simply looking at her, by hearing her utter his name.

A memory flashes, and he's surprised that he's even surprised. _The child she's carrying is very special_. He shouldn't be surprised, not really; they've always considered him their miracle child.

And then he realizes the boy is peeking at him from over Scully's shoulder. He smiles at him uncertainly, almost ashamed of the tears he can feel streaming down his cheeks. In their short time together he's had time to form some sort of a bond with his mother, but there's really no reason for William to know or even remember who he was.

Only by this point, he should know better. "Hi, Daddy."

Scully gasps and loosens her grip on the boy. "How could you possibly – "

"I dreamed about him," the boy explains, and it makes absolutely no sense, only it does. He looks at his son with wonder. "We were building sandcastles together."

Of all the incredible things he has seen throughout his career on the X Files, this takes the cake. He has witnessed dozens of cases like this in the past, but never so closely. "I had the same dream," he hears himself say. He doesn't remember William leaving his mother's arms, but suddenly he's in his, his little hands gripping the back of his shirt. He's crying openly as he holds him close.

"It's okay," he hears Scully murmur as she rubs their son's back. He realizes the little boy is trembling, also crying. "Everything is going to be okay now."

xxxxx

They don't leave the cabin until dinnertime and even then it's because Laurie is beginning to show signs of discomfort. Scully is uncertain about leaving William behind, as is he, but they both know they can't just take him away. Even if Laurie and Anna believe by now that he really is their son, they'll need harder evidence than just the boy's word.

They barely speak on the way home; he peeks at Scully from time to time. She seems as shaken as he feels. But underneath, he's completely and utterly happy. He couldn't find Samantha, but he feels like he is given a second chance with his son.

Her hand covers his and he takes his eyes off the road for a brief moment. She smiles at him and his lips curl in a huge smile in return as he squeezes her hand. Words are unnecessary, really. He knows exactly how she feels.

That night in his dream he is exactly where he wants to be. The dream is a blessing rather than a burden. Their sandcastle is the highest he has ever seen it and yet they keep on building, adding more spears and moats as they go. Even Scully is there in a flowing blue dress. He isn't surprised to find her there even though she's never been there before. She's standing some distance away, cheering them on.

William is running over to her, throwing his small arms around her knees. She giggles and kneels next to him so he can wrap his arms around her neck. They both look up at him as he approaches them. Their smiles are radiant, and so beautifully alike. Scully rises as he picks up their son. He reaches for her and she smiles at him as she gives him her hand. She goes on tiptoes as they move closer together for a kiss.

And as the bright sun washes over the three of them on the beach, he thinks back of her promise to their son. Everything is going to be okay now.

For the first time in decades, he feels hope.


	4. Epilogue

**A/N - I know the following is kind of out-of-character for The X Files as a whole, but the scene sort of wrote itself, and it seemed like the proper ending for this little story. I hope you enjoy it despite its out-of-character-ness. Thanks for reading, feedback is always welcome.**

* * *

**Epilogue**

A week later, it's all over. The results of the blood tests Scully has conducted can't be more conclusive. Laurie and Anna are hesitant at first, but eventually William bids goodbye to the children in the orphanage and moves in with them. They are both wide awake pretty much throughout his first night with them, pacing outside his door, listening to his breathing.

It's almost hard to believe how fast they've all adjusted into being a family. The next day it's like he's never been away from them. Of course, they have spent a lot of time together from the moment they found him, but it's different when they're all under the same roof, when nothing or no one can take him away from them again. For the first few days, they keep pretty much to themselves. It's not like they have that many people to tell, but still; they want to rediscover their son with no prying eyes.

Margaret Scully is the first person they call as soon as they receive the final results. She goes on the first flight from Washington half an hour after her daughter has called her. Skinner joins them for dinner as well, eager to meet the miracle child of his two former agents, the one he has protected even before he was born. The huge dinner they have that evening is partly in his honor; he was the one who got Scully special access to the FBI labs, which allowed her to conduct the most extensive blood work, and with such speedy results.

They spend the most incredible evening together. Margaret is amazing with William; somehow it was obvious to him that this would be the case. Watching Skinner with William, he's surprised his former boss has never had kids of his own. They hit it off immediately, and he and Skinner spend the evening recounting anecdotes of some of the more bizarre cases they've had over the years, much to Scully's dismay. It appeared William enjoyed their ongoing bickering, just as much as Skinner seemed to.

As Scully and her mother tuck William in, he walks Skinner to his car so he can make his midnight flight back to Washington. He gazes at the dark road long after the car of his former boss disappears into the night. The front porch is awash soft yellow and he lingers there. The swing creaks a bit underneath his weigh as he sits down. Exhaustion fills him completely. The silence that wraps around him is comforting. It feels as if his life is about to resume its hectic pace. It takes some getting used to.

In many ways, tonight has been the most normal evening he's had possibly all his life. Everything is falling into place in a way he could only dream of. This is the happy ending he has always yearned for. He can hardly believe this is for real.

There's one last thing he needs to do to get his life in order. He's been thinking about it for years, but these past few days have sealed his decision. He's been looking for excuses to put it off for months, possibly even years. God knows he's had plenty of opportunities. Even this evening, he has been stalling shamelessly. He touches his shirt pocket and it's still there, its presence mocking him. In all these years of chasing aliens and trying to prove government conspiracies, this is by far the hardest thing he's ever got to do.

He looks up at the sound of an opening door and smiles wearily at Scully as she goes out of the house and comes to sit beside him. She tucks her feet underneath her and pulls the sleeves of her cardigan over her palms before laying her head against his shoulder. The swing sways ever so slightly, creaking a little as it goes.

"Is he asleep?"

"Yes," she replies and sulks at him, although he can definitely detect a hint of a smile fighting its way to the surface. "Although he refused to close his eyes until I told him everything about the supposedly invisible Anson Stokes."

He laughs softly at the reproach in her tone; she almost killed him when he mentioned it during dinner. "He _was_ invisible, Scully."

"Sure he was, Mulder," she says through a yawn. It's a relief to know that even though she seems to know exactly what she's doing when it comes to raising their son, she's exhausted as well. For so long, they have maintained their own pace in life. Getting used to the very lively pace of their eight year old is definitely going to be a challenge.

But he's stalling again. So silly. He might as well get this over with.

Her eyes are closed when he's reaching for her hand, but she's smiling when he's lacing their fingers together, pushing the soft material of her cardigan slightly back. She seems distracted enough. He slips his other hand in his pocket as warily as he possibly can, then coolly, idly, as if he knows exactly what he's doing, he slips the ring onto her finger.

Immediately, he feels her tense against him. Her eyes snap open and fly up to meet his. He shrugs, flashing a crooked smile at her, but doesn't reply the endless questions in her eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, she looks down and starts as though she truly hasn't seen it coming. The ring rests on her finger, a perfect fit, as though it has always meant to be there, and in many ways it has. Even through their darkest times, it couldn't have been anyone else.

"It was my mother's," he says, embarrassed by the tremor in his voice. "Which is probably not the best symbolic token considering the way my parents' marriage ended."

She lets out a little gasp as though she wasn't really sure where he was going with this until he uttered that word. She seems as if she wants to say something and so he continues, abruptly. He can't lose his nerve now.

"I know it's not really necessary. We've been living like a married couple for the best of the last decade and we've done so more successfully than most married couples out there. I just thought… now that we got William back… that we might as well do it."

She cocks an eyebrow, clearly amused. "_We might as well do it_?" she echoes incredulously. Then she shakes her head, laughing softly. "That's not a very good proposal, Mulder."

"Cut me some slack here, will you? I have no idea what I'm doing and it's unnerving."

"Well, there's a fifty-fifty chance I'll say yes," she says shyly. Her cheeks are bright pink in the dim light. She looks just like she did when they first met. He remembers that day, that moment, as though it's happened yesterday.

"I can't stop the darkness from coming. I think we've been under its wing for so long it just knows where to find us easier than it does other people." He's just rambling now, but he doesn't care. It helps easing the stress. Kind of. "But I _can_ promise to be there and protect you from it. And William. I can – "

She rises, all but sitting in his lap, as she wraps her arms around his neck. He swallows and feels his heart at the back of his throat. What has he meant to say?

"Mulder," she whispers, her breath hot against his neck. "Just ask it."

There's laughter in her eyes as she backs away an inch, but not too much for him to keep a clear mind. His hands rest against her waist. She tilts her head ever so slightly, her smile a mix of encouragement and anticipation.

Ah, the hell with this. It's only four words.

"Dana Katherine Scully," he pauses, but quickly gets a grip. He can do this. "Will you marry me?"

He fights the urge to close his eyes as soon as the words are out. He feels like such a cliché. Only he doesn't get a chance to do so. Her smile is softer now. She places her lips close to his ear again. "Yes. Yes, I will."

And while a part of him has anticipated her reply, he is stunned into silence. He just stares at her with awe. She giggles, and there's an edge to the sound. "Were you expecting a different answer?" she asks, teasingly poking his sides.

He grabs her hand and slowly kisses each finger, letting his lips linger against the ring. "No, Mrs. Spooky, that's just the answer I was hoping for."

"Mrs. Spooky," she mock groans. "I guess we really are living the dream now, aren't we?"

He chuckles and holds her closer, and his mind drifts again to that night in Roswell. But he doesn't remember hopelessness now, or despair, only hope. It fills him now too. Something is coming. The future is looming closer and closer, but whatever it is bound to bring, he is fearless. He knows now what he wasn't sure of back in Roswell. He can embrace the future or fight it, so long as she was beside him. So long as they have William. There's nothing to it, really. They'll be alright.

"Come on," she says, and gently pulls him to his feet. "Let's go to bed."

Tonight will be peaceful, he thinks as he follows her inside. There will be no dark dreams, no ghosts, no nightmares. The truth is out there, and it has come to him. They'll be alright. So long as they're together.


End file.
